Life In Every Word
by MannequIncorporated
Summary: Slash, Sparco, Oneshot. Just after 'Sunglasses at Night'.


**Life In Every Word**

by MannequIncorporated

Rating: T

Disclaimers: I do not own the characters or the song (thank you, Ben and Jimmy)

--

_I've been waiting since birth to find  
A love that would look and sound like a movie_

"Dude, you're sweating." Spinner's forehead wrinkled, just like it always did when he was thinking. "Like, a lot."

Marco shook his head, shrugging. "No kidding, Spin. I just got off work at my dad's, and I'm sweating. Go figure." He glared at the taller boy. "And this is your fault."

Spinner laughed. "My fault? Because I stole money from your dad and set up a poker ring in the store, and then blamed my boyfriend in Sweden."

"Switzerland, Spinner," Marco said, turning and stomping away in the rain. He whirled around, stepping backwards and lightly dodging a puddle as he yelled back. "How fucking hard is it to remember Switzerland?"

Spinner jogged to catch up with him. "Sorry. Whatever. Switzerland." Marco was fast, Spinner thought, for being short.

Biting his lip, Marco ignored his friend (still in pursuit) and tried to walk as quickly as possible without appearing to exert effort. Staring at the ground, he pretended not to notice that Spinner had stopped on the sidewalk behind him. He continued pushing through the throngs as Spinner's voice caught up to him.

"Look!" Spinner yelled, causing Marco involuntarily to stop and turn. "I said I was sorry, and I dropped the charges." The italian boy was now heading full speed toward him, his eyes unreadable in the mist. "What more do you want from me?" Marco stood in front of him now, looking hard at him.

And, without warning, Spinner felt hands grasp his jaw, felt lips pressed against his, felt knees against his own. It took two full seconds for Spinner to push him back, another three to compose the words The, Hell, and What in the proper order and shout them.

Marco bit his lip again, still looking into the tall boy's eyes. His backpack fell from his trembling shoulder, forgotten, as he turned and fled into the fog.

It took a few hours for Spinner to gather up the -- well, not courage, but whatever -- to deliver the backpack. In all his infinite tact, Spinner finally decided to check the contents of Marco's bag for throwability, and then toss the poor leather thing into Marco's second-story window. No muss, no fuss. The bag checked out, and Spinner parked out front, stepping out onto the concrete and trying to remember which window was his.

The front door opened slowly as Spinner contemplated, and Marco emerged in pajama bottoms and a faded tee, holding two mugs of something steaming.

This wasn't by the book. Spinner felt his plan crash on the concrete next to him. "I... uh... I brought your backpack for you."

Marco smiled. "Come in?"

Spinner shrugged, heading toward the door and taking the cup Marco extended to him. He tried to come up with something clever to say, but ended up with "Don't kiss me" and said it so fast it could have been anything.

Marco didn't seem to notice. He waited for Spinner to step through the door, and closed it behind them.

Spinner threw his jacket on the couch, along with Marco's bag. Damned if he wasn't going to throw something _somewhere_. He looked in the mug. "What is this?"

"It's just coffee, Spinner."

Spinner wiggled the mug a bit. "Coffee with what?"

Marco shook his head. "Milk," he smirked. "No poison, I promise." He sat down on the couch next to his backpack, motioned for Spinner to join him.

The taller boy sat down next to him, not wanting to look at him, unable to keep from meeting his eyes. They were so soft, those deep brown things.

Right now they looked upset. "Spin," he began, hesitating. "I'm sorry. I don't want anything to come between our friendship, or anything. And I certainly don't want to scare you or upset you." He bit his lip again, Spinner noticed. "But I --" he said, still pausing, "I care about you, a lot."

Spinner shrugged. "You had me worried with the poker thing."

Marco gave a half-grin. "And apparently you do too, in your own way." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What I mean is," his voice dropped to a whisper, "If it's all right with you, I'd like to try it again. But without anyone upset."

_I kissed you in a style  
Clark Gable would have admired  
(I thought it classic)_


End file.
